


I’m barely Russian anymore… Remember

by TheIskra



Category: Figure Skating RPF
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-09-27
Updated: 2019-09-27
Packaged: 2020-10-29 09:00:30
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,247
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20794058
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheIskra/pseuds/TheIskra
Summary: Well aware that no one is going to read this. No one but me ships it but I wanted to get it out into the universe.





	I’m barely Russian anymore… Remember

The room is loud, music and voices and clanging of glasses and cutlery and he just wants to leave. He can see Alexei glancing at his watch, irritated to even be there. A few moment later, Stephane wanders over, clearly a little lost.

This is too easy, he thinks. And it is. Alexei smiles and pulls Stephane into the chair next to him. He’s mostly ignored Stephane until Alexei punched him and told him to “stop being such a dick”. He smiles politely and Stephane glances at the tiny plates of food in front of them.

“Eat,” he says, tilting his head and giving him a little smile. Instantly, Stephane’s cheeks flush and his eyes widen.

There’s a kick under the table and he smiles at Alexei. “Tell him what he should have. I’m barely Russian anymore…. Remember?”

“Don’t,” Alexei says in Russian.

He smiles. It’s been a long time since he’s so much as flirted with someone. Running his hand through his hair, he pours another shot and hands it to Stephane. “You’ll be more Russian than me by the time you fly home.”

Stephane laughs, nervous and awkward and it’s amusing as hell as another kick slams into his shin under the table. They drink and he takes a beat, knowing he’s being watched as he drinks, eyes never leaving Alexei’s. When he sets the small glass down, he runs his tongue over his bottom lip and looks over sees Stephane’s lips part, then another kick. He chuckles and raises a brow. “What?”

His eyes slowly move to Stephane. “It’s too loud. Zhenya doesn’t need us. Let’s go to my room. This time I know it’s better than Lyosha’s.” “Fuck you,” Alexei says with a snort. Stephane looks around the room, clearly torn. He’s far more diplomatic than the rest and knows he should stay. Doesn’t matter to Ilia either way. He’s, at best, indifferent about Stephane. He tilts a glass of water against his lips and takes it back, clearing it of the astringent taste of alcohol and stands. He doesn’t bother looking back. He says his goodnights to everyone and heads to the front of the restaurant to hail a cab. If he winds up alone, that’s the same as nearly every night for the past three years. He doesn’t particularly care. He’s not wound up, not in need of anything really.

The high of performing lasts until his feet slide out of his skates and slowly start to warm back up. He used to have to run or bike for an hour to bring himself back to earth but the older he gets, the less time it takes.

The phone in his pocket buzzes and he sees a text. _Steph feels like he should stay. I feel no such thing_.

He smiles. _Then don’t_.

When the yellow cab pulls up, he steps in. “Ritz-Carton,” he says, shifting his hips and resting his neck on the back of the seat. There’s a loud thump and the cab stops. He looks out and sees Alexei, irritated next to the door. Chuckling, he unlocks and opens it, sliding over. “Turn the radio off,” he says to the driver, with just enough politeness.

Leaning back again and closing his eyes, the vibration of the motor thrumming against the soles of his feet, under his ass lull him. He hasn’t been this relaxed in weeks. Alexei’s leg is near his although not touching. The heat radiating off of him. He thinks about a memory, when they were in a dorm together when he was maybe 18 or so. The federation was still pissed that they left Moscow and there were “rooming issues” at every international event he attended. When he arrived, Alexei was standing in front of one double sized bed with his suitcase in his hand.

He was so exhausted that he merely said, “I’ll take the left side,” and set his bags on the floor before going to the toilet.

Sleeping with Alexei was like sleeping next to a radiator. Normally there were never enough blankets in these rooms. He was perpetually cold, his hands either balled up into fists and folded over his chest or trapped between his thighs to stay warm. He remembered rolling over to face Alexei, who was already snoring, his chubby face relaxed as he slept on his back. He had unclenched his fists and moved them close to Alexei’s naked torso and almost immediately, his fingers warmed. He didn’t dare touch but didn’t need to.

“It was good of you to come to this,” he says, eyes still closed, knowing he’s poking the bear.

Silence, then a sigh. “Three hours of jerking off Zhenya in front of a crowd. At least I got paid more than you for it,” Alexei says, voice flat.

“And you got Stephane’s lips on your ass,” he snorts, rolling his head to the side and opening his eyes.

“His cock in my ass actually,” Alexei smiles.

It takes him a moment to cycle through the statement and what he knows his reaction should be. “Slut,” he smirks.

Alexei shrugs and sighs. “That’s actually a lie. I sucked his cock last night. Was too tired to fuck.”

Ilia can feel his blood thrumming in his ears and knows Alexei is trying to get a rise out of him. Alexei is the only person who can elicit this reaction… well there were two but that doesn’t matter now. But he has no claim on Alexei, never has. “Shouldn’t have stopped him,” Ilia says with a snort. A rare nod to the kink he’s more than aware is mildly problematic. He’s fucked Alexei more than once when he was too tired or… barely awake. Before he was confident enough to explore his body in broad daylight.

Alexei snorts but he doesn’t seem angry. The on/off switch has been flipped. His eyes move over the profile. Tanned skin, absolutely Russian nose, thick lips, and defined jaw. He doesn’t know anyone here as well as he knows Alexei and sometimes he’s not certain how well they know each other at all. He’s shit about keeping in touch but Alexei never really seems to mind. Most of their communication is via text anyway. The cab pulls up in front of the hotel and Ilia pays the driver while the doorman opens the door. They make their way through the ornate but largely empty lobby to the elevators. He nods to the uniformed porter and the doors slide closed. It’s barely a moment before Alexei leans over and rests his head on Ilia’s shoulder.

“Your room,” Alexei says.

“Yeah,” he replies before the doors open. He follows silently and thinks about what would have happened IF Stephane had agreed to leave. He knows himself well enough to know the answer. He’d watch them. Then he’d kick Stephane out.

When they get into the impossibly beautiful suite, Alexei takes off his sweater and drapes it over a brocade chair. These are the moments when Alexei’s upbringing becomes clear. He didn’t have new clothes until much later, he didn’t have much at all compared to Ilia. Now he takes pristine care of his clothes, his shoes, his car, his skates. Ilia is more careless. He never needed for anything and it showed for a long time in how he took care of (or didn’t) his things. By the time he takes off his shoes, Alexei is in plain black briefs in bed.


End file.
